


Be All You Can Be

by LisaDuncansTwin



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Humor, M/M, Silly, Written in 2002
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:07:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LisaDuncansTwin/pseuds/LisaDuncansTwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Detective seeks some companionship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be All You Can Be

**Author's Note:**

> Lord, if PetFly knew we were doing this, they'd be laughing their asses off! Originally written and betaed in 2002, left unaltered. Betaed by a drunk Mongoose. Watch out for those Mongooses, they bite. I'm blaming the whole thing on HER. I was in a fowl (cluck, cluck) mood and she wouldn't stop buggin' me until I wrote something to get myself out of it. (sticks tongue out!)

It wasn't the smartest idea being led around by your dick, but sometimes it was the only voice of reason within a fifty yard range. And his dick was leading him right to... Ericka. 

Ericka was six foot two in her stocking feet, and when she slid on those five inch stiletto thigh-high boots... lord, it was enough to make a man's ass pucker. And god, the things she would do to an asshole. Just thinking about it made his dick hard enough to impede his ability to walk straight, pun intended. 

There she was, standing in her usual place, just across from Piggly Wiggly, where, rumor had it, that she was blowing the bag boys so often and so well, that they were just signing over their paychecks directly to her. 

He crossed the street, hands in his pockets, as if they could conceal the stretched material over his crotch, and smiled as she turned to look at him. 

"Back again so soon, hot stuff?" Ericka said in her sultry, deep voice. She was, of course, referring to his visit the night before. 

"Well, when you've got what I want... how can I stay away?" 

She smiled indulgently at him and her left eyebrow quirked up. He knew she was asking how much he wanted to spend, both time and monetarily. 

"I'll give you $200 for the whole night," he offered, already reaching for his wallet, wishing she took credit cards, but then snickering to himself as he wondered where he'd swipe the card. 

"And what is sweet Ericka gonna give you in return?" She licked her lips, and he moaned loud enough to attract the attention of a man nearby. 

"Please," he pleaded, not willing to say it out loud, it was bad enough, he thought, that he wanted it. 

"Tell me!" Ericka suddenly demanded, looking down into his wide eyes. 

"Oh god," he whispered, growing infinitely harder under her demanding gaze. "Spank me, fuck me, eat me, god, just do me." 

Laughing wickedly, Ericka nodded and turned, not waiting to see if he was following, and strutted off towards her usual fuck spot. 

* * *

He had bad luck, not even no luck, just bad, bad, terrible, horrible luck. Cops staking out the hotel Ericka took her tricks to, and not a single one of them had been a friend of his. Brian Rafe stood with his head down in front of his Captain's desk, wishing he was a magician so he could disappear. 

The minutes wore on as Simon read the report, his eyes continually jumping from the words on the paper to the detective standing in front of him like a little boy who had gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Unfortunately, the cookie jar had been a hooker under surveillance. 

Finally, Simon's deep voice broke the silence. 

"Detective Rafe, do you have anything to say?" 

"Um..." 

"A hooker!" Simon said, slamming his hand down on the desk, making Rafe as jumpy as a virgin on a bus full of prison escapees. 

"I didn't--" 

"A transvestite hooker!!" 

"I didn't--" 

"A fifty year old, black, transvestite hooker with a tattoo of "Be All You Can Be" on his hairy chest!!!" 

"I thought she was being supportive." Rafe made the mistake of smirking as the words came out of his mouth. 

"Oh, shut the fuck up!" Simon yelled, rattling the mini-blinds. "You needed a blow job that badly?!" Simon glared at his underling. 

"No--" 

"To fuck someone?" 

"Not exactly..." 

Simon was about to throw another question at Rafe, when something in the bullpen distracted him. 

"Do _not_ move," he ordered before pulling open his office door. 

Ericka, the transvestite hooker in question, was, in fact, being questioned by Brown, who seemed to be having an inordinately good time doing so. But it wasn't the shit eating grin on Brown's face that made Simon's eyes widen in understanding. In fact, if he hadn't seen it for himself, Simon never would have understood the reasons why Brian Rafe went looking for a prostitute. A fifty year old, black transvestite hooker. 

Going back into his office, Simon closed the door and turned to face Rafe. 

"Is it because he's a man or because he's a man wearing a dress?" 

Startled, Rafe's head whipped up and his eyes met Simon's. 

"It's not the dress." The words could almost have been a caress against Simon's cheek. 

Fishing into his pocket, Simon pulled out his keys, he fumbled around with them for a half second and then held out one key. 

With a trembling hand, Rafe took the key, their eyes never breaking contact. 

"I have to clean up this mess," Simon said, walking back to his desk and sitting down. "You _will_ be at my house, in my bed, cleaned and ready for me when I get home, or else. Do you understand me?" 

Rafe gulped twice before answering. "Yes, sir." 

"Dismissed." Simon picked up the folder in front of him, already trying to decide how to make it disappear. 

"Sir?" Rafe said. "Simon?" 

"What?" Simon looked up from the folder and saw Rafe standing near the door. 

"Do you have any high heels?" 

The end. 

* * *

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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